Glitter and Ribbons and Wrapping Paper of the Soul

Leaden skies draped my world in dewy garland today.  Even now, the rain is still sliding down the windows as the street lights flicker on beyond, their halos misty in the night.  Christmas twinkles along the edges of my sight, the fairy lights draped across the bar, the holly piled high atop the china hutch, the buffet littered with half drunk bottles of wine and a dozen glasses among the poinsettias and candles.  Our holiday bash crept up so quickly, my month of novel writing just ended and I had but a week to deck the house and bake the nibbles to delight; a week of ladders and lights and hanging the Moravian star.  Ribbons that swirl and stars that spin in the pine-scented drafts...oh, how I love Christmas!

And yet....

The house is so quiet.  The first day without a scribbled list on legal pad yellow paper, each item crossed off with satisfaction and the last with utter exhaustion.  The first day without a deadline except dinner--and bacon wrapped pork chops with lemon and sage make for patient mouths, willing to wait however long it takes.  I curled up with a cup of cinnamon tea this afternoon and watched the slate coloured sky, recollecting moments of hilarity and joy during the party, as well as several of frustration and fatigue in that week leading up to it.  Entertaining is a creature born of effort and organization; it dares you to reach higher, try harder, and do it while ever smiling. 

I've been known to joke that I only entertain after dark as candle light is the most flattering, hiding the flaws and imperfections in this ancient house--thus every room is lit with their flickering glow.  I passionately adore the character of the old and weathered but as I hung the wreath to cover the crack in the wall, tied the lights to hide the chipped mantle, dangled the ornaments from the dining room chandelier to draw the eye away from the unfinished mount, I was reminded of....myself.

The eyeliner to distract from the shadows that hover beneath, lipstick to cover the weariness, a smile to counteract the anger that can be read in the clench of my jaw.  Baubles to glitter at my ears, my hair twisted and tucked into shape.  Sometimes I feel I wrap and decorate myself much as I do a gift, only I am unsure if it is to prolong the surprise of the wonder inside....or to conceal the defects and disappointments.  Each of us fights our own battle to accept ourselves, this I know.  Under a barrage of advertising that encourages lifelong dissatisfaction and a hunger for bigger, better, lovelier and sparkly...thinner, smarter, faster...perpetual reckless improvement. 

This holiday, our entertaining now done for the most part, I'm looking forward to quiet nights and peppermint spiked cocoa.  Long afternoons in my painted clothing perhaps working on a new canvas, my hair damp from the shower, my cheeks pale in the light.  I'm hoping to be more honest with myself...more realistic with my energy and time.  More genuine with my emotions.  Let us fight the rabid dog of commercialism and comparisons.  Let us enjoy each other while resisting the unattainable myth of perfection.

Here's to unwrapping our souls...may we cherish what we discover.       
 

The Crucial Ingredient

Hmmmm, so just a few days past I gave notice to my preconceived absence, a month working on a novel anticipated to take up much of my free time. (wait, is there such a thing?)  Yet then, there occurs the unexpected....the conversations which fuel the thoughts which lead me here. 

A phone call.  Someone close to me, separated from her spouse, fighting her way through a new world of two jobs and daycare and lonely single parenthood.  Long talks in the past of ifs and maybes and might-have-beens....but now there is only...now.  And she mentions that she recently asked him, "Why?"  Perhaps the most important question--while somehow being simultaneously the most insignificant as it applies to life now because no matter WHY, we are indeed now...here.  We clutch at the why to justify and explain and soothe the now that is here....when really the why is often a Ferris wheel of rationalizations that leave us blinking in the glare of fairy lights, unsure where the beginning or the end might be.

The why can be lethal.  It can eat at you, endlessly gnawing at the edges of the reasons you once told yourself.  The reasons that made sense.  In this cake we are all baking--the life we are writing as we open our mouths and pen the words that sketch the picture within that we live...the ingredients matter. 

Time.  Dear God, the author of such, time is the blood of life.  Giving time, taking time, putting aside time.  The vampire that is the twenty-first century is poised, clutching the edge of your tattered calendar, fangs sharp and at the ready.  Beware lest he wrench that which you love away.

Thought.  Oh yes, acknowledge the power of the mind, for it stands between you and the emptiness that awaits just over there...just past uncaring  and self-centeredness.  Somewhere beyond "I didn't know" and before "I don't care" lies a terrible black swamp of "I forgot."  O ye who have no ears...

And the most crucial of ingredients...

Ah, time and thought are excellent beginnings, the magnificent starters of the race.  Look, their legs so long, their muscles strong....but do you know who wins the final lap? 

Effort.  The sweaty companion that doesn't sit down, doesn't rest.  Effort is the one who takes the thought and makes the time.  He pushes past "I'm tired" and "what now" and thrusts himself to the finish line of "it matters."


"He didn't really want to be married...it was too much work." 

I shudder at the world I see being built around us.  Where the tower of a lasting relationship is replaced by the motel 6 of convenience.  Where it seems many would rather pitch a tent....than get dirty, scrape some knuckles, and lay the stones of a foundation. 

It's not just her or him--this story has been written in the marrow of husbands and wives and children.  It is not a matter of gender or age, but within the skin of us.  I ask you today to just pause amidst the pulse of your life, the rhythm you've become accustomed to.  Assess your time, your thought, and your effort. 

You, alone...measuring the ingredients.


No one wants the cake to fall.